


Manual Adjustments

by RedirectedThoughts



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Car Accidents, Chiropractor, F/F, First Meetings, Hannigram - Freeform, M/M, Massage, Massage Thearapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sensuality, Sexy Times, early 20's Will, lots of tight muscles if you know what i mean, masseur!hannibal, still not sure if he's going to be a cannibal, we'll see
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 19:51:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6485326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedirectedThoughts/pseuds/RedirectedThoughts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While looking for a new house, a young Will Graham is involved in a car accident, requiring much physical therapy, including massage.</p>
<p>This is really an excuse for me to write masseur!Hannibal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Manual Adjustments

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Hannigram fic, even though I’ve had tons of stories roaming around my head for months. This is also my first fanfic in years, so this should be interesting.
> 
> I was in a pretty rough car accident on the 10th of March, and to help myself process and detox the anxiety I decided to write out the experience as a story, and what better way than Hannigram? The car accident is going to be documented almost exactly as it happened for me (situation and thought wise) up until Will goes to the hospital. I had a pretty atrocious hospital experience (long story short, I had to go to a second hospital, since the first one did a terrible job), and I won’t subject our little cinnamon-bun to that~
> 
> I got the idea for this fic during my massage therapy, BECAUSE WHO WOULDN’T WANT MASSEUR HANNIBAL???  
> Enjoy.

Will Graham hadn’t planned on being rushed to The John Hopkins Hospital ER when he’d gotten up this morning, yet here he lay, strapped to a gurney with a neck brace tight around his throat while a medic took down his information.

That’s a Thursday morning for you.

\--

“It’s going to be a left at the next street, Bev,” Will mumbled, glancing at the GPS map on his phone, pushing up his glasses.

The two were on their way to look at a small house just off of Foster Road. House hunting thus far had been one disappointment after another, either a room was too small, a yard not big enough, or a kitchen without enough cupboard space. Anything that _was_ nice was far out of their price range, even with Will’s new teaching job.

“Alright,” She said, flipping on her blinker and coasting into the center lane. “Holy fuck, there’s so much traffic! It’s not even noon yet.”

Car after car zoomed opposite them, unrelenting. Will idly slid open and closed the back compartment to his phone case that was meant to store credit cards, now used to keep his hands busy and his mind grounded.

“Everyone’s probably taking an early lunch,” he muttered in response.

Beverly Katz grunted something about where everyone could put their lunch as they waited patiently for a break in the traffic. Some kind-hearted soul came to a stop in the far left lane, creating a line of cars behind them.

“Hell yeah,” Beverly muttered, waiting for the last car to speed past in the closest lane before pressing the gas to turn onto the street.

Will turned to look out the passenger window and immediately tensed. A silver car was speeding towards them, too close, much too fast to stop--

“Bev, Bev, BEV!”

“Wha--”

_Please break, please,breakBREAK--oh God, they’re not breaking, they’re not--_

The moment of impact was stunningly overwhelming.

_We’re flipping. The car is flipping_ , was Will’s first thought, completely at a loss as his body was flung out of control to the drivers side. He could hear Beverly scream, but couldn’t move to do anything for her, could only listen to the scrape of metal crash together--crushing, crunching, _shrieking_ \--

And then it was over; the wreckage came to as sudden a halt as it had started.

Before he could even wrench his eyes open, he felt searing pain, his head flopped to the left, and his right hip was practically _yelling_ at him.

“Fuh..ck. Wha…”

“Will! Oh my God, Will, are you ok?!” Beverly was crying, or hyperventilating, probably both, he couldn’t tell over the shrill tone.

He was stunned at how suddenly painful every part of his body was, lifting his head up, he opened his eyes, trying to focus on Beverly’s own. It took a few tries, his eyes wouldn't stop swiveling. Her face was drained of all color, and he could see her body shaking, hear her gasping. She still had a bone-white knuckle grip on the steering wheel, she'd be lucky if her arms weren't broken.

“I-I can’t move. Beverly, I can’t move...call 911, please, I can..t....” He felt panic setting in, he was in so much pain. Several terrible thoughts came to mind: broken bones, paralyzation, hospital bills--

“FUCK, I have finals,” Will groaned. His students would probably thank the heavens that their final was going to be rescheduled, possibly canceled. _Where was his phone_ …His head felt so heavy, but the adrenaline was allowing him to gain better control of his limbs; lifting his right arm, he began to wrestle with the seat belt.

Beverly was gasping words incoherently as she opened the driver’s door and launched from her seat.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” Screamed a male voice from outside the vehicle. It sounded so far away.

Will tugged at the chest belt, he could feel sharp pain radiating from his collarbone down his shoulder and into his left arm. He cursed and groaned in pain as he fumbled, trying to get the damn upper seat belt to unclip from the top of the door. This was why he hated cars with the separate lap belt. Will’s fingers kept slipping, and when it wouldn’t unclip he gave it up for a lost cause.

“What the FUCK DO YOU MEAN, WHAT AM I DOING?” Beverly shrieked. Will couldn't tell if it was his hearing that was fluctuating so drastically, or their voices. Somehow he doubted they naturally sounded like they were inside of a bubble.

“You fucking pulled out! Why the fuck did you pull out into the road?!”

_Fuck_ , he needed to get out, the panic was rising again now that he was getting a better look at the car. The front windshield was cracked, the glove-box crunched in half, the lock on it  popped out and hanging. He looked over to his passenger window, the entire pane of glass was a detailed web of fractures. The door was bent inward several inches.

That's why he felt like he couldn’t move.

The car was crushed around him.

At least that cleared up the throbbing in his right hip, and ass cheek. He gave one last futile tug at the chest belt, before looking to his left and reaching for where the lap belt clipped in.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Where were you?! You weren’t there before, why didn’t you fucking stop!!”

_Click._

Will almost wept with relief, throwing the lap belt off, he began to heave himself over to the driver’s seat. The angle was awkward, with the other belt still around his chest, and all of his muscles shook as they pumped terror through his veins. He slowly inched his way backwards, using the steering wheel and driver’s seat for leverage, he dragged his legs out from the wreckage. He needed his phone. Glancing around, checking where his feet had been. No sign of it. It wasn’t in his hand.

But part of the phone case still was. The sliding door to the compartment was clutched in his left palm.

Great.

He could hear Beverly and the other driver still yelling back and forth as he finally flipped around and crawled from her precious 1991 Toyota Camry. Standing on his legs felt surreal. He knew in the back of his mind he shouldn’t have even moved from his seat until the paramedics got there, but he couldn’t stand being in that seat for one more minute. The fear of being trapped was too much. The illogical idea that the wreckage could get worse permeated his thoughts, no matter how unlikely it was to be.

The guy was still yelling when Will turned on him, cutting him off mid sentence.

“Everyone shut up. It doesn’t _matter_ whose fault it was, it fucking happened, call the cops, call 911, and..exchange...information…”

Will’s vision began to blacken, so he leaned against the driver’s door frame as he caught his breath. There he spotted his phone _and_ his glasses sitting in the backseat next to each other as if they had been there the whole car ride.

_Lovely_ , he thought, as he slumped in the driver’s seat and leaned over to grab them, shoving his glasses violently back onto his face. He still felt dizzy, and his eyes struggled to focus as he unlocked his phone. Using muscle memory, and the little bit of vision he could muster, he weaved his way through his contacts until he found Jack Crawford, pressing the Call button for his boss.

Using the dial tone as an anchor to breath, Will rubbed a hand over his face and leaned back into the driver’s seat. Jack’s deep baritone felt like an eruption to his overloaded senses. Even electronic voices sounded garbled and warped.

_“Hello, you’ve reached Jack Crawford, I’m unable to take your call at this time. If you leave your name and number, I will get back to you as soon as possible.”_

BEEP.

“Jack, it’s Will Graham. I was just in a car accident, and I’m on my way to the hospital. I have a final scheduled at two today. I’m..not gonna make it. I’m sorry, call me back. Thank you.”

After hanging up the phone, he leaned back and closed his eyes, once more focusing on breathing deeply. He listened as Beverly took down the other man’s information, attempting to anchor himself and not feel nauseous, or go into shock. He opened his eyes and glanced over at the passenger side of the car and balked.

The seat he had been previously sitting in was crunched in half, starting from the side nearest the door, towards the center of the vehicle. Glass scattered across every surface, the headrest was turned sideways.

_I was sitting in that_ , he thought in horror.

Will was pulled from his thoughts as several EMT’s crowded outside his door. 

“Hello there, son, my name is Roger Hensley, what’s your name?” An older man with a thick salt and pepper mustache crouched down next to the door, grabbing Will’s attention. 

“Will Graham,” he choked out, throat tight.

“Nice to meet you, Will. Can you tell me what happened? Were you the driver?”

He shook is head, pointing behind himself, “I was the passenger. We were T-boned.”

Robert looked over Will’s shoulder, his thick eyebrows rising high on his forehead, while another EMT peeked in and muttered a soft, “Jesus…”

“You were the passenger? Did someone help you out?”

Will shook his head again, feeling oddly guilty, “I..I crawled out.”

If it was any more possible for the man to look surprised, he achieved it. “Well, Will, I’m going to ask you a few more questions, is that alright?” Will nodded, “What’s your date of birth? Are you taking any medications? Do you have any…”

Will answered each question as it came, to the best of his ability, telling him where it hurt as another EMT took his pulse. Within minutes he found himself strapped into a neck brace and being lifted onto a medical transport gurney.

“Will! Will, I’ll meet you at the hospital!” Beverly shouted, her voice thick from fear and screaming. He tried to nod, which was next to impossible in the neck brace. He couldn’t see her, so he let out a weak, “OK.”

“I love you,” She was definitely crying now.

“I love you too. It’s OK.”

As Will was loaded into the ambulance, it finally struck him that this was real, it had happened, and he felt a thick gasp leave him as he let out the first sob that had been threatening to escape since the moment of impact.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it's short, I also don't have a beta, so excuse any editing mistakes. I'll have more up later this week. Tell me what you think!


End file.
